


imagine.

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: And when Jess blinks open her watery eyes,Lila was gone.





	

I don’t remember meeting Jess exactly. If I tried hard enough to remember I think I can see her in her full glory, tall and intimidating for being so young, pointing a finger to herself and declaring that she was Jess and she was going to be my best friend. But I might just be imagining it.

 

Jess never had a best friend before that moment, I only know that because I didn’t either. Neither of us had really had a friend before each other. But that doesn't matter anymore, because now we are best friends. And nothing can change that.

 

…

 

“Jess! Don’t you dare die on me!” I cry out when Jess jumps off the couch and her toes miss the corner of the couch and she falls onto the carpeted ground with a dignified grunt. I watch with exaggerated horror and amusement as she clutches her chest and one arm out to the ceiling, grasping at nothing but air.

 

“I’m dying, the lava has gotten me. I leave you my pokémon card collection,” she coughs a final time and her hand outstretched towards the ceiling collapses on top of her face dramatically.

 

“Nooooooooo,” I rest my face in my hands, trying to be serious, but failing to contain my giggling. “Oh wait, this means I can have your card collection?” I wait for a reaction, but there’s nothing but a twitch from the hand resting on her face and silence.

 

“Okay, bye then!” I jump over Jess’s and she clumsily shoots up to run past me so she can guard her binder of cards. However, Jess’s mother blocked the entrance to the stairs with crossed arms and a disapproving look.

 

“Jess I told you not to stomp your feet on the wood while your father is working, he will get angry at me as well as you. So try to be more quiet please,” I watch Jess cross her arms indignantly out of the corner of my eye.

 

“But mom, Lila was loud too!” she huffs, stomping her foot in protest. All I can do is watch with wide, guilty eyes as her mother turns her head and with a blank stare tells me to be quiet too.

 

It’s not the first time she doesn’t look me in the eye.

 

…

 

I’m in Jess’s room years later, the yelling downstairs seems to seep in the walls and I feel absolutely helpless watching my best friend bury her head in pillows. she only lets herself cry for a few minutes before pulling herself together. I feel pride swell in my chest as she wipes the snot under her nose and the wetness shining on her cheeks with a handkerchief.

 

she apologizes for letting me see her in such an uncivilized state, not looking at me as she pats her shirt down of wrinkles and nimbly sits back down at her desk and finishes her homework quietly.

 

There is so much I have to say, but my stone tongue stops me from comforting Jess. I’ll never know how she got used to the screams that bleed into her room that create the foundation of her unhealthy household. But I admire her more than words could ever say.

 

…

 

“Jess~,” I sing-song, my folded elementary graduation papers press against my leg in my pocket. They seem to weigh me down as I politely ask what middle school Jess wants to go to.

 

her papers are held proudly in her hands as her parents talk to each other in irritated hushed voices in front of us. I see them gesture to me sometimes when Jess isn’t watching, when I brought this up to her she said it was probably because of my obnoxious orange hair. But they seem too angry to be upset about my hair.

 

“I’m not sure yet, some school in the district for sure, and they have to have a good academic level.” I nod in agreement to that. she lists some of the schools she liked, and I comment whether or not I liked them. Jess sips on her milk box thoughtfully as I talk loudly about her options, complimenting her as I go through the list. When we get to the car she buckles in my seatbelt for me, because I get distracted by a crow that flies near the window.

 

“So Jess, what middle school do you think you’re going to choose?” her father asks, his eyes not leaving the road even though her mother is the one driving. I look to see if Jess bothers to tell him that she should have been listening to us. she’s been doing that less recently. I don’t mind, not really. But her family makes me feel like I'm invisible. But Jess would always stick up for me, including me in everything she does.

 

It’s not a nice feeling when she doesn’t.

 

 

she doesn’t talk to me much more for the rest of the night.

 

 

…

 

We are twelve when Jess throws herself into school and forgets everything else. Including me.

 

she hasn’t actually forgotten about me, I think, but we hardly speak anymore. Even when I pester her for hours on end, she won’t respond more than a few more sentences. I still come over almost every night, so tonight isn’t like any other when I plop down on her bed hours after studying and curl up on her favorite pillow.

 

The loud mumbling downstairs is insistent to puncture the walls and I can see Jess’s hands shake. Even after hearing her parents consistent yelling for years, it still affects her. They’ve become so loud now that I could probably make out their splitting words if I tried.

 

Jess’s grip on her pencil is so tight her knuckles have turned white. I cleared my throat so I could tease her about snapping her pencil, but Jess’s father’s voice belts out, louder than I’ve ever heard anyone scream before. The entire house seems to shake with the final slam of the door.

 

“Your daughter is a freak!”

 

I turn away from the door I hadn’t realized I’ve been staring at to comfort Jess, but she’s already composed herself enough to put down her pencil and wring her hands out under the desk. she breathes out deeply once before continuing the math problem she was working on previously.

 

The deafening silence falls on deaf ears, and Jess doesn’t speak a word throughout the night.

 

…

 

Jess’s father doesn’t come back after his final outburst, and neither does much of the quiet between us. I wonder if the last words he shouted into the house echoes through her head as much as it does mine.

 

At only fourteen Jess starts starving herself. I blame myself because I cant make her better.

 

Jess’s the best person I know, even if we haven’t spoken more than a few words in months, she is no better. she just wants them to be the best they can be. I don’t see what’s wrong with wanting everyone at their best. i just want her to know that her best didn't mean keeping away food from her mouth.

 

If I could huge her I'd surely—

 

Why can’t I hug her?

 

…

 

Jess has talked to me more this week than she has in the past few months, and although it makes me feel like I’m not finally being ignored, every word is like walking on eggshells.

 

I’m not smart, I know this well. Despite this, I know Jess still doesn’t have any friends other than me. I know even if she isn’t the most social person in the world, she wants another friend.

 

It’s breezy outside, I know because of what Jess’s wearing and because of the bare cherry blossom tree branches are swaying in the wind. However, I can’t feel the chill on my translucent skin.

 

I’ve followed Jess up the path to this point and she comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the road. I ask her what was wrong, and although the sound doesn’t make it past the wind separating us, I knew Jess heard it. she’s always heard me.

 

“I can't do this anymore Lila,” her voice breaks at the end of her words and I ask her what she can’t do anymore.

 

“I can’t live like this! I’m a freak,” she says, each word growing louder, ‘you aren’t a freak’ I whisper into the passing wind.

 

“I am though, I am. You want to know why I’m a freak? I’ll give you a hint, its not because my dad said so. And I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she blubbers, huffing out a choked sob. Jess presses her cold fingertips under her eyes to stop the tears from falling, but its inevitable.

 

“You aren’t real, Lila,” she says it like a mantra, but only heard the first time. My hearing deteriorates as I look at my best friend of fourteen years with wide eyes. My only friend of fourteen years.

 

The ringing in my ears only continues to get louder as I look up to see Jess’s red face mouthing— screaming that her best and only friend wasn’t real. That the reason her father left was because of me. Because of her. Because I’m not real. And because she is a freak.

 

I am real, my emotions are real, I like real things, and I dislike real things. I am real. I am real. I am real. I’ve never tasted or truly touched anything, nor have I really done anything other than be with Jess. But I am real. I have to be real. I have to be.

 

“Oh,” I think, watching Jess close her eyes, tears bubbling over her lashes and falling down her pale cheeks. “I guess I never was real.”

 

…

 

And when Jess blinks open her watery eyes,

 

Lila was gone.


End file.
